


The Good with the Bad

by Samari1



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Asexual Clint Barton, Asexual Relationship, Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Child Abuse, Character Death, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint and Bucky survive, Deaf Clint Barton, Eventual Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27141359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samari1/pseuds/Samari1
Summary: Clint only lets one person close. Until they rescue The Winter Soldier.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66





	The Good with the Bad

Clint hobbled to the med floor, one hand gripping the wound on his left thigh though he knew the Stark&ChoTech nanobot powder Nat had poured on it was keeping him going, thankful that Cho was a freaking genius. Not that anyone discussed it - thank fuck - but he hoped she knew he felt that way. He wouldn't slide into her genius machine until Nat was on the door, making sure no one else entered the room. Not that they would - they all knew better. No one, except Nat, no matter the circumstances, saw Clint this vulnerable or half naked. Or vulnerable while half naked? Ugh. Just no. 

Nat locked the door, glaring out the small window at someone, and watched as he stripped off the bloodied and torn tac pants and boots. The manual lock was low tech, but Clint hadn’t trusted the Stark version, so it had been added. His aids (thank you Tony) wouldn’t harm the machine - not these ones. The old ones had, which was why this machine was second gen. Clint didn’t do ‘injured and no aids’, not without the whole losing his shit thing that tended to end with Nat threatening people who weren’t named Clint that happened to be in the area. Which was also why no one had dared try to follow them in.

Yeah, he was extra vulnerable now and hated it. Nat did that half-smile thing that somehow reassured him and aimed one gun at the door and the other at the windows. Only then did Clint nod. 

“Go,” Nat all but demanded, the machine starting up almost immediately. 

Cho’s voice came over the speaker usually reserved for JARVIS. “Five minutes. You missed the major artery, but there is serious damage to mend, Agent Barton.”

Clint huffed and rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t hurt. You’re overreacting, Doc.”

“Clint,” Nat warned, her eyes narrowing as she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Not now.”

He realized, belatedly, that she was covered in blood. Not quite dripping off her like that time they raided a HYDRA base in Belarus, but almost. Shit. Was that all his blood? Clint clenched his jaw, not wanting to upset her further. Nat was his best, truly his only, friend and he wasn’t about to worry her any more than he apparently already had. 

He kept his eyes on Nat, focusing on her and the bone deep knowledge that she wouldn’t let anyone through that door. Well, unless he was really, really dying. That was their deal. Or had been since the day he’d lost all his shit and nearly jumped out of the thirty story window to escape the doctor that had been trying to stitch him back together. He’d only settled once Nat took his hand and held a gun on the doctor. Funnily enough, Tony funded Cho’s research for the amazing healing machine within hours. 

“Done. You know the drill, Agents.”

Clint nearly snickered at that. Yeah yeah, stay flat for five more minutes. Sit up and wait five more. Then he could escape. Get away from the hospital smell and people in white coats. Yeah, he was more than a bit broken, but Clint hadn't fallen totally off the sanity bus, not yet. It wasn’t his fault that his drunken, abusive fuckwit father had taught him to fear medical personnel. Hell, he was well aware that the whole 80% profoundly deaf thing was because he’d had to be hospitalized from one of that bastard’s beatings. So, of fucking course, beat the child you put in the hospital for being hospitilized. Harold Barton hadn’t been the sharpest knife in the drawer.

Clint sat up at Nat’s signal, ignoring the dizziness that was likely due to blood loss. Fuck. He was worse off than he thought. He damn well knew what blood loss did. Fuck. Clint warily eyed Nat. She backed towards him as he took the wrapped pair of tac pants from the handy drawer Cho had opened in the side of the machine. He ripped the shrink wrap packaging off and pulled them on as he stood after another signal from Nat. 

Nat shifted back again and he laid an arm over her shoulders, leaning on her just enough to take weight off his newly healed thigh. “They have Barnes next door and are patching him up.”

Clint sighed, wishing he could at least check in with Cap, but he was done peopling for the day. Hell, for the week if he had his way. They’d been out on this mission for weeks and he really, really was over people accidentally touching him. “Glad we found him. Cap’ll be a lot better now, yeah?”

Nat sighed. “Hope so. What have I told you,” she muttered, handing him one of her guns so she could wrap an arm around his waist, the door opening automatically, “about dying without my permission?”

“I’m not allowed.” He winced, his tone almost whining. “I didn’t mean to. We were  _ this _ close to being out of there, with Barnes, Nat! I couldn’t have them shooting him!”

He knew she was rolling her eyes as they slowly made their way in the opposite direction from where the rest of the team was huddled in the hallway. “Not discussing it, not right now.”

Clint realized, too late, that she was shaking. Not enough for anyone (even JARVIS) to pick up on it, but he did. Damn it all. Fuck. “Sorry, Nat. Really.”

Nat just huffed and helped him onto the elevator. “Clint’s floor, please, JARVIS.”

“Shall I order the usual?”

“Yes,” Clint said, just as Nat snapped, “NO!”

“Aww, pizza, yes, Nat.”

“Tomorrow. Tonight you eat good food that helps you heal. Complain and I’ll break the coffee pot.”

Clint shut up. It wasn’t an empty threat and both of them knew it. After the Belarus mission, she had not only broken his actual coffee pot, but every single one he had delivered to replace it. She also confiscated all coffee sent up by the others. For three damn days. Nat loved him, Clint knew that. He was the only one she did and he was the same with her. No one else understood either of them. Clint understood whereas the rest of the team just wondered how she could be so mean when he was already injured. Coffee was how he stayed awake, so she took it away so he would sleep and heal. She also cuddled him to keep the nightmares away and didn’t need to be told when too much touching was too much. She read him as well as he did her. 

He blinked as she helped him to the big bathroom off his bedroom, sleep becoming paramount as his energy started to wane. “Sleep.”

“Nap whilst I cook,” she corrected gently. “After we get you clean.”

He was more a human sized doll than a person, but Nat wasn't a fainting flower so she got him undressed and into the tub in minutes, the water already running as hot as humanly possible. Bless JARVIS. He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, he was sitting on the edge of the tub and Nat was drying his hair. “Sorry,” he mumbled sleepily.

She just shook her head and helped him into his purple Hawkeye pyjama pants. “Apologize again and I break the coffee pot.”

Clint nearly laughed, would have too if he wasn’t so fucking tired.    
  
Everything, even whatever amazingness Nat pretty much spoon fed him, was a blur. He blinked awake, rolling and grabbing for his aids. The curtains were barely cracked, just enough to keep the room from being totally dark and Clint realized he must’ve slept through at least a day. He wasn’t even sure how many times Nat fed him. He turned on his aids and nearly fell over. 

“Go the fuck away.”

Yikes. Nat sounded like she was about to shoot whomever was at the door. 

“Stevie wasn’t joking, was he.”

Clint didn’t recognize the voice asking the question yet not a question, but it could only be one person. James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. The guy Clint had taken the bullets for. The ones aimed at Barnes’ head. No regrets. Cap had their six so the other Avengers had his in regards to finding his best friend, super soldier assassin or not. Hmf. He’d like to see any fucking body come after Barnes now. 

“No, James. Now go. Shoo. Unless you want to be shot.”

A hiss of sound and a sigh. “Yeah no, Natalia. I’m good. Just wanted to thank Barton.”

“Later, though he’ll not want one.”

Another sigh. “I’m across the hall.”

Clint heard the door all but slam and sighed. He had to move sometime, but not just yet. Not even for coffee, which might be allowed today. Might, though if the low string of rapid Russian was anything to go by, probably not. Damn it all. 

“Stark,” Nat snarled. It was quiet, too quiet, for a minute or two. “I don’t care what you, Sam, and Cap thought! I’ll move up here.” It went quiet again. “I’m not happy and Clint won’t be either.”

Shit. This had all the earmarks of good intentioned meddling. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Groaning, Clint pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, carefully. Nat was in the room before he could get to his feet. She eyed him and finally nodded, turning to go. “Coffee?”

“Three cups.”

He sighed, but didn’t complain, not after the conversations she’d just had. He would need to cuddle with her because she needed cuddles right now. It was Nat, he reminded his stupid anxiety and general eww reaction to touching in general brain, she won’t hurt him or overdo the touching. He just had to remember that.

\--**--

James. Bucky. Shit what name did he want to go by? Fucks sake, even that seemed too difficult a decision to make. Natalia had eyed him, deemed him acceptable and had gone with James. Stevie, of fucking course, went with Bucky. He really didn’t give a shit. So long as no one called him Asset or Солдат, he wouldn’t shoot them. Probably. 

He closed the door to his own apartment, not looking back at the bright purple door to Barton’s apartment. He hadn’t quite understood the ramifications (or Banner’s wide-eyed panic) when Stevie, Wilson, and Stark had decided he needed his own space and that the empty apartment on Barton’s floor would be perfect. Wilson had half-hearedly offered to move off his and Stevie’s floor, but James/Bucky hadn’t wanted that. He saw how Stevie watched Wilson. Nope, not getting in the middle of  _ that _ . Good for Stevie, but no. He felt horrible about it now. Clearly Barton wasn’t one for sharing space. 

He sat on the comfortable sofa and stared out at a very different city than the one he could sort of remember. Stark had done something, yanking out all the fucking control words out of his head and restored what memories he could almost three days ago. He still hadn’t slept more than an hour or two, but he couldn’t be bothered. Not after seeing the general panic as they had hauled ass out of the Siberian facility where he’d been held and the Avengers had sprung him from. They’d almost been to the doors when there had been this absolute howl of outrage mixed with fear. He’d whirled, recognizing the feminine tone. His brain had been swiss cheese, but he’d recognized Natalia and Stevie as soon as he’d been unthawed. Sort of. Mostly. Hell. His brain was still swiss cheese. But, yeah, he’d known it was Natalia. Without question, he’d laid cover fire as she hauled the incredibly tall blond man towards the other Avengers. 

He seemed to be the only one that understood the rapid Russian. Natalia had been all but falling apart underneath the Red Room training that he somehow knew no one else saw through. Training he’d helped to give her so maybe that was it? She had demanded that the blond (Clint she called him) didn't have her permission to get shot and definitely not to die. Clint started to complain, but shut up at another rapid bit of Russian that had included threats to break coffee pots for some reason and how she could have taken the hits better than him. 

The man he later found out was Sam Wilson rushed forward, but stopped about an arms length from Natalia and simply handed her a packet before backing away quickly. He’d watched, even as he kept his gun aimed at the direction they’d come from. Clint mumbled in excellent Russian that he’d been hurt worse, before wincing as she dumped something on his thigh, muttering about stupid best friends and their lack of care for themselves. 

He’d nearly jumped out of his skin when Stevie laid a hand on his shoulder. His elbow connecting with Stevie's stomach out of pure instinct a split second later. Stevie sounded worried, but also calm. “Natasha has him. We need to go though.”

Natalia shot a glare over her shoulder that he’d been happy wasn’t for him. If looks could kill, Stevie would be dead twice over. “Stay back, Cap.”

Stevie stepped back. He’d nearly fallen over. Stevie never backed down. Never. 

“I’ll get the floating cot,” the guy in the red and yellow metal suit (Stark) offered hesitantly. “Okay?”

Natalia nodded sharply, her attention back on the blood covered blond.

“I can carry Clint,” Stevie offered. 

“No,” everyone chorused and the overly large and very green guy (Bruce Banner) stomped over and planted himself between the group and Natalia. That seemed to end all offers of help.

“Charges will go off in two minutes,” the guy in the silver metal suit (Rhodey he found out later) said urgently. 

Natalia helped Clint onto the stretcher looking thing, still muttering in Russian. He had stepped out of the way, gun still aimed down the hallway in case they had missed any enemies. 

It had been a bit of a blur after that, mainly because he’d been panicking and all but climbing the walls at all of the people in the small plane he learned somewhere along the line was called a quinjet. He found a small space to shove himself into and thankfully everyone left him to it. He had been almost grateful they all but forgot him, everyone too concerned over the injured blond to worry about him. 

Stevie had tried twice, after they landed and rushed off to the medical area, to touch him and he’d felt like shit about not being able to handle it, but didn’t know how to explain. He’d agreed to the tests, not because he wanted them, but he kind of did, but because the words in his head made him a threat and they’d already nearly lost one of their own to save his sorry ass. He’d been unwilling to risk them further. 

Food, clothes, and anything else he could possibly want was delivered to his apartment. He had tried to leave, to go down and join the others after the helpful (fuck he loved technology) AI, JARVIS, said he could join them in the communal kitchen for a meal. It had been too much though, so he’d retreated back to his space. He hated that Stevie looked heartbroken, but damn it, he couldn't. Not now. 

A knock sounded at the door. JARVIS all but sighed, “It is the Captain. I can send him away.”

He sighed, getting up. “I’ll talk to him. Thanks, JARVIS.”

“You’re welcome, Sergeant.”

He opened the door, blocking it with his foot so Stevie couldn’t barge right in. This was HIS space. He wasn’t ready for anyone, even Stevie, to be inside it yet. “Stevie.”

Stevie looked almost panicked. “Are you doing okay, Buck? Natasha said Clint’s okay, but wouldn't let me in to see for myself.”

His eyebrows shot up. “And you’re surprised?”

Looking chagrined, Stevie blushed and shrugged. “Hasn’t ever been allowed. But, I had to try.”

“I’m fine. Trying to adjust to all of this. I just need space. I’m grateful. Really, I am. I just need…”

Stevie looked deflated. “Okay. I was going to ask if I could come in. Uhh, you have the phone Tony gave you, right?”

He just nodded. 

“You can call me. I tried to get you a flip phone like I have, but Tony insisted you needed the newest one.”

He smiled at that. Stark had handed over the phone and a tablet. Both of which JARVIS had explained, in great detail, to him when asked. Like the television, shower, coffee pot, and all the other new technological things he’d missed out on being mindwiped and frozen on and off for all these years. In fact, JARVIS had quickly become his go-to for pretty much everything. “I will. I’m so fucking sorry that I’m not the same guy you remember.”

“Language,” Stevie muttered and then blushed. “Sorry. Habit. No, I get it. I was on ice until a year and a half ago, so I get it. Can I hug you?”

He winced, closing the door and not relaxing until the locks engaged. “Maybe someday, but I doubt it,” he whispered, hating himself a little bit for it. 

\--**--

Clint hated being injured. Nat was a silent mother hen for a month or three afterwards. He wasn’t even limping anymore, for fucks sake. Which he  _ didn’t  _ mutter out loud. He appreciated it, really he did. It was like having a bodyguard in the shadows, one who knew damn fucking well he could take care of himself and take out any threats but that was there anyway. 

He walked into the range, stopping dead in his tracks. “Uh. Sorry. I’ll go.”

Barnes’ eyed flicked over to him and then back on the target. “No need.”

Clint took him at his word and retrieved his favorite bow from the rack, making sure to keep two lanes between them. This wasn’t the first time they’d shared the range in the last three months, but Clint knew all too well how nerve wracking it was to have someone invade his space so he always offered. 

“Where is Natalia?”

Clint snickered. “Around.”

“I can shoot you both.”

Clint laughed, releasing two arrows knowing that they would hit the targets he’d been aiming for even as he looked over his shoulder to see her standing in the doorway. “You like me too much.”

She sniffed and glared.

“How the fuck do you do that?!”

Clint turned his attention to the other man. “Bow and arrows are kinda my thing, Barnes.”

“James is fine,” was the huffy reply. “You know what I meant.”

“He never misses,” Nat offered gleefully. “Though, I’m happy to judge a contest between the two of you.”

Clint’s eyes narrowed. “Why? You aren't betting with Tony again, are you?”

She grinned her shark grin. “Would I do that?”

He knew better than answering, so Clint settled the ear protection over his ears and focused on shooting. He switched to knives after a while, happy to stay on the range until Nat did her nagging yet not nagging thing. 

Nat stepped into his peripheral vision and Clint laid down the knives, quickly glancing at James to make sure he’d set his weapons down before turning back to Nat, the ear protection now hanging around his neck. “All okay?”

She looked frustrated and reluctant. “Hill called. I need to go.”

“It’s Bake-Off night,” he grumbled, not willing to say what he wanted to when it wasn't just the two of them. He hated that he was still on med leave, stupid Hill thinking he could use extra time. Pfftt. He did not like Nat going on missions (S.H.I.E.L.D. or Avengers) without him there to have her back. Not that she wasn’t capable, because duh super soldier assassin, but because he didn’t have the capacity to give a shit about many people. Okay, anyone other than Nat. He cared about the other Avengers sure, but not the way he did Nat. Fuck. Just fuck. 

“I know.” 

“How long?”

“Day or two. Maybe a week. Or two. No idea.”

His eyes narrowed. “Check in.”

“Every three days,” she assured him. “You two can do the Bake-Off thing at my place. No spoilers when I get back and make you re-watch.”

“You know I hate spoilers.” Clint wasn’t sure he was okay with that. Two months ago, she’d all but drug James to their Bake-Off watching night and it had become routine now. But, routine with Nat there. Damn it. He knew her game. Fucking fine. “Not up to me.”

“You sure?” James asked quietly, having thus far stayed out of it. 

“Of course. Tidy up here, dinner is set to be delivered.” She was gone a moment later.

Clint rushed through storing the weapons and hurried out. 

\--**--

James, which he had decided he liked much better than Bucky (except for Steve who was the only one allowed to call him that), took his time tidying up his weapons. He still wasn’t comfortable in the common areas, at least not when everyone was there. Or with touching. He couldn’t stand to see Steve looking like a lost puppy about it either. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone. It was just easier to stick to the two other Avengers that also had strict rules about touching. Natalia was a force of nature and had, in her own way, started the whole tv night thing with her and Clint. She also joined him on his morning runs and pushed him to the range when she knew Clint would be there. James didn’t know if she thought she was being sneaky or not, but wasn’t dumb enough to ask.

He liked the two of them. They made it easy to interact with. Not that any of them talked too terribly much, but still. They co-existed well in the same room. It counted. He was trying with Steve, but that was more of a work in progress. They had a few meals together and slowly were talking about the past, at least the parts James could remember.

He made his way up to Natalia’s apartment, having decided he had given them plenty of time. The door opened at his approach and James wasn’t too terribly surprised to see Clint already curled up in his purple chair curled up under a purple blanket. “Natalia gone?”

Clint managed a slight smile. “She left you a blanket. Said we can camp out here if we want.”

James snickered. “JARVIS banned everyone from our floor.”

Clint shrugged. “I’m doing it.”

He settled on the sofa, smiling at the really soft blue blanket folded neatly in his usual seat. There was a note:  _ I’m trusting you with him, James. Stay in my place, no one will bother either of you. _ He tucked the note in his hoodie pocket, shaking his head. 

“She tell you to sit on me?”

James snickered. “She knows we’d both run screaming.”

Clint smiled brightly. “So, camp out then?”

He found himself saying, “Yeah,” when he’d meant to say the opposite. 

That was when he realized he was more than a little bit besotted. It was also the beginning of something he probably would have run screaming from if he’d seen it coming. Not because he didn’t want it, but because he wanted it too much. 

\--**--

Clint rolled out of bed and onto the floor, too sleepy to catch himself. Mostly asleep, his heart pounding, Clint laid there hating the stupid fucking nightmares he couldn’t seem to rid himself of. Fuck. 

James appeared in the doorway, head tilted as if assessing him for injuries. Clint waved him off, rolling and shaking his head as if that would help shake off the nightmare. He didn’t need his aids to know that James was sighing as he crossed the room and retrieved his aids from the other side of the bed. He just sighed, closing his eyes and feeling like an idiot as he held out his hands for the aids. James never came too close, not even when they started this whole ‘camping out’ thing in Nat’s apartment six weeks ago. He put his aids in and turned them on. “I’m fine.”

James sounded as sleepy as Clint felt. “Uh huh. I’ll start the coffee.”

Clint reached for a zip up hoodie and stumbled out to the kitchen. James held on to the mug until he was sure Clint wouldn’t drop it and Clint managed a half smile in thanks. “I wake you?”

“Surprised I didn’t wake you.”

They stumbled over to the couch and settled in, the routine a mindless one by now. Not a night had gone by since one, or both, had ended up awake thanks to nightmares. Clint handed James the blue blanket and curled up under his own. “Nah. Might’ve pulled me out of mine.”

Clint wasn’t sure when he’d become comfortable with James. Not that he knew how to say that he was. James didn’t either. It was by unspoken agreement that they’d been testing themselves, almost inch by inch. They were only a few inches apart on the couch now. Nat was going to either be shocked or smug. He was voting smug. She dutifully checked in every three days and had been thrilled in her own Nat-like way that James liked the space she’d made for him in her spare room, since the second bedroom had been Clint’s since they all moved into the Tower. She had also told them both how much easier she slept knowing they were safe in her space and not being bothered by anyone. As if Clint didn’t know what she was doing with that shit. He wasn’t going to call her on it. Not when it meant having someone to retreat with when everything became too much. 

“I need a haircut,” James mumbled grumpily, flicking at his hair with his metal arm, re-filling Clint’s mug and then his own. 

Too sleepy to think it through, Clint grumbled, “Why? I’ll braid it.”

James blinked, then blinked again, shoving his long fall of hair out of his face again. “Okay.”

Clint set his mug on the table and shifted, sleepy and comfortable and all the things he never expected to be without Nat there. He liked it though. “Turn.”

He spent way too long running his hands through James’ hair and carefully getting the tangles out. He’d missed the soothing feeling that he’d only allowed himself with Nat. He stopped when he realized that James was practically plastered against his chest and he wasn't panicking or grossed out by it. He was too shocked to do anything else. 

“Shit. Sorry.” James was up and nearly in the kitchen in seconds.

Clint sighed. “No, no, it’s fine. Really.”

“Your fine or the actual definition?” James was eying him suspiciously. 

He snickered. “Actual. Get back over here. Seriously.”

James was still wary, but settled back in. “If you’re sure.”

Clint gently tugged the other man back in place and started over again. “Pfft. All tangled again.”

James just snickered. 

Clint wasn’t sure how long he carded his hands through James’ hair or when James fell asleep. He didn’t stop though, not until he drifted off as well. When he finally surfaced, he blinked and looked around, spotting his aids on the table. Once they were in and on, he slowly sat up, not sure he hadn’t dreamed everything after the stupid nightmare.

James’ voice broke the silence. “Sorry. I know you said it hurts your ears if you keep them in.”

Clint rubbed a hand over his face. “No. It’s fine. Time is it?”

“About noon. I’ve only been up an hour.” James brought him a mug of coffee, smiling. “Figured I’d wait until you were awake. You did promise to braid this mess of hair.”

Clint grinned, unable to stop himself. He hadn’t dreamed it after all! “Five cups of coffee and it won’t be a mess. Deal?”

James’ grin widened and he retrieved the coffee pot and set it on the holder thing on the coffee table. “I’ll shower whilst you wake up.” Then he frowned. “Shit. Team meeting in an hour. Text came through about ten minutes ago.”

Clint groaned, his head falling back and he bit back all the cuss words. That wasn’t nearly enough time for him to fully wake up. 

“It won’t be too bad. Steve wants me there. I can shoot anyone that bothers either of us.”

Clint snorted, nearly shooting coffee out his nose. “Not allowed!”

James grumbled, slipping into Russian somewhere between ‘meddling best friends’ and ‘dumbasses that think wings are cool’. James and Sam did not get along. At all. Clint thought it was because Sam had a crush on Steve and somehow thought James was standing in the way of it. He wasn’t. Duh.

“Nat made us promise. I didn’t say I liked it, just that I don’t wanna deal with her being mad at us for it.”

“Finnneeeeee. I’m going to shower. Ugh.”

Clint finished all the coffee, drinking directly from the pot because neither Nat nor James was in the room to snip at him for it. He was putting their mugs and the coffee pot in the dishwasher when James strolled in looking all happy. Clint smiled. “Sit, I’ll braid your hair and then shower.”

Clint took longer than necessary, but neither of them minded. He wandered off to shower and dress, thankful that James had thrown together pancakes for breakfast/lunch. They ate at the counter and were heading towards the door for the meeting and he was still lost in thought about what the hell was going on between them when there was a knock at the door. He froze. Who the hell dared?!

James didn’t look any happier about it, but managed to get to the door, opening it slightly. “Hill, what the fuck are you doing here?”

Clint didn’t move. He couldn’t. Hill would only be here for one reason. JARVIS wouldn’t have let her up otherwise.

\--**--

James didn’t like the look on Hill’s face. Not one bit. He’d seen that look before. Back in the day, during the war when they lost a soldier. No. Just no. He nearly slammed the door in Hill’s face. She anticipated him, shoving her foot in so he couldn’t slam the door closed.

“Let me in.”

Oh no. Her tone was that grating, so sorry for your loss bullshit one. Shit. 

“I don’t think she’s dead.”

He let the door fall open a bit more. He could hear Clint almost hyperventilating behind him and he wanted this over with. “So, what then?”

“Natasha went dark. She made me promise to tell you both in person if it was necessary.”

“Liar.”

James glared his most potent glare at Hill to keep her from moving before turning to Clint. “Hey.”

Clint had that stubbornly defiant look on his face. “Liar. Fuck you,  _ Maria _ . She’d have let  _ me _ know if she had to go dark.”

James moved towards the shaking blond. “Even Natalia can’t plan for every single contingency.”

“Yes she can.”

“Hill, fuck off.” James didn’t take his eyes off of Clint. He would either dart for the door intent on tracking Natalia down or fall utterly apart. James was prepared to either go with him or try to help, no matter what.

“She knew it was possible for this mission,” Hill interjected, “It’s why she pushed you both to be here.”

“Like she’d tell  _ you _ anything.”

James winced. “Go, Hill. Just go.”

Clint blinked, shaking his head, muttering, “She would have told me. It’s a  _ rule _ , damn it. Hill is  _ lying _ .”

The door closed and the locks engaged. 

James didn’t know what to do. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. “Hill said Natalia’s dark not dead. That’s a good thing.”

Clint shook his head, his blue eyes wide and pupils blown. “No. No. No. Not.”

James took a chance, hoping it was the right one. He laid his hand on Clint’s shoulder and gently nudged the other man to the sofa. Once Clint all but collapsed, James sat with him. “You two have protocols no one else knows. What are they?”

“Check in every three days. No going dark without warning. JARVIS set up our phones so an auto text goes through.” Clint dug his phone out of his hoodie pocket and both ignored how much he was shaking. He pointed to a tiny little button on the side of the phone. “All you gotta do is hold it down. If you don’t put the code in to say it was an accident, JARVIS sends the text.”

James hated this. He wanted to vomit, but held back the urge. Nothing sounded right about this situation. “What else?”

“JARVIS!”

“Agent Barton, I have lost contact with Agent Romanov’s phone. I will keep trying.”

James didn’t have to think about catching Clint, stopping him from making it to the door, hugging him close. “I’m sorry. We need intel, Clint. You know this. Let JARVIS do his thing. I won’t stop you, I swear. Fuck, I’ll be there with you, if you won’t shoot me for it.”

“I have to find her.”

“I know. I’ll help.” He didn’t say that he was thinking it would be more body retrieval than rescue. He wouldn’t say that aloud. In fact, if anyone dared say it in front of Clint, he’d probably shoot them for it. “Let me help.”

“The Captain requests you both join them in the meeting room. Agent Hill informed him of the situation.”

“Thank you for the information, JARVIS,” James muttered, assessing Clint’s state of mind before he agreed to a fucking thing. Still shocked, but either repressing it or working through it. It wasn’t the best, but it would have to do. “Trust me?” 

Clint managed a nod. “Duh.”

He would have laughed in any other circumstance. “JARVIS?”

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“Will you compile all the intel we need? Just for our eyes, not even Stark’s or S.H.I.E.L.D.s?”

“Agent Romanov will disassemble me upon her return if I don’t.”

James shook his head. At least the sass was still present. Maybe JARVIS wasn’t as fatalistic as he was. Or the AI knew that James would figure out a way to disassemble him if Clint was stressed any further. “Indeed. Send it to my tablet, please.”

“We need to go down there.”

James stepped back, not sure if he was freaking Clint out or not. Damn it, he wanted to hold Clint and reassure him, even if he wasn't certain what was truly going on. “You up to it?”

“Yes. No. Have to be. For Nat.”

“Tell me what you need.”

Clint just stared. He did that slow blink thing. Tried talking. Failed. Tried again. Failed.

“I’m serious,” he said carefully. “You know I won’t judge, any more than you would me if the situation was reversed.”

“Might lose all my shit.”

“Don’t blame you. Trying not to do the same myself.”

“Nat’s tough.”

James’ heart was breaking. “Yeah, she is. So are you. Sorry I grabbed you, I know you don’t like that.”

Clint sighed, looking away. “It’s you, it’s okay. Anyone else, I’ll shoot them.”

“I’ll shoot them for you, sound good?”

Clint tipped his head, finally looking back at James, his voice almost a whisper. “Why?”

Like he could tell the whole truth. Not now, not when Clint was already freaking out. “I am not as attached to them as you are, except maybe Steve. Plus, I can claim PTSD and they can’t be too mad.”

Clint nearly smiled. “I want Nat back, James. Now.”

“I know. I’m not Natalia, but if you need to, grab hold and I won’t judge. Okay?”

“She never judged. She kept people away. Didn’t think I was broken. Shut people up when they tried to set me up on dates. I don't do dates, James. Do. Not. Ugh.”

“I don’t think you’re broken.” James didn’t quite manage a smile. “I’m not broken either. We’re just different. But, those people down there in the meeting room do care about you. They will help.”

“Agent. Sergeant.”

James sighed. “Yes, JARVIS?”

“Agent Romanov has been erased from S.H.I.E.L.D. databases. All of them. No trace of her.”

James never, ever wanted to hear the sound Clint made again. His heart broke in a million pieces, but he kept his shit together. For Clint. He braced himself and held on when Clint all but collapsed against him. 

\--**--

Clint knew he was pushing himself too far. Didn’t give a shit. No matter how many worried looks James sent his way. No. He was going to keep going. Steve had tried to convince him that the whole team needed to go. James had backed Clint, refusing the offer. They’d loaded up and left, heading to the last coordinates JARVIS had been able to find for Nat’s phone. Even when Tony tried to lock them out of the system. That had been almost seven months ago. Steve still checked in, but seemed to understand that interfering was not an acceptable option. 

He and James had torn through a child trafficking ring (which had been what Nat had been doing when she ... ) and what had to be half the Russian mafia. Since Clint and James were both well aware most of the mafia was run by former KGB and thus had been responsible for both James’ imprisonment and Nat’s time in the Red Room, they had no moral objections to taking out every single one of them. 

Clint stood back whilst James ripped off the huge lock on the door and they both peered inside. He would have collapsed if not for James. It took awhile for him to collect himself, but Clint stepped into the tiny, freezing room of a morgue in Serbia and carefully picked Nat’s body up. It wasn’t right. Not at all. She shouldn’t have been able to be killed. Not like this. His brain just couldn’t process it. But, the man they’d killed after extracting every last detail had been very clear on it. The Red Room had a protocol, like the one Tony had removed from James’ mind. Nat hadn’t known, none of the girls had. 

James wrapped an arm around him and led him out to the waiting quinjet, his gun ready to take out any threats. “Iowa?”

Clint could only nod. He’d taken Nat to his property not long after Barney had died. She had loved it there, making him promise that if she ever … well … this. But, yeah, that she would be there. In the fields, free. He curled up, hating that Nat was so fucking cold. She hated the cold. So much. He zoned out, only surfacing when James crouched in front of him, speaking softly. “We’re here. No one knows.”

“Can’t know. Promised.”   
  


James stayed with him as they buried Nat, planting hundreds of flowers to hide her grave. Both of them cried, but neither of them mentioned it. Nat had made him promise no fanfare, no big ceremony. Just make sure she had a peaceful and secret place to rest. So he did. 

Only then did Clint let James lead him inside to shower, eat, and sleep. When James made to leave, Clint grabbed his hand. It had become a thing, sleeping side by side the last little while and he didn’t want it to change. “Stay?”

“I will. Take your aids out, I’ll hear if you need me. Just want to shower real quick.”

“Okay.” He was exhausted and fell asleep, not even truly waking when James laid down next to him. It was okay, James was safe and comforting. 

\--**--

There were no questions when they returned to Avengers Tower. James was grateful for it. Clint was outwardly put together and inwardly falling apart. Out of habit, they stepped out onto Natalia’s floor, both of them realizing it when they reached the door. Most of their belongings had migrated here anyway. He side eyed Clint, but the blond just stared at the door. 

“We can go to mine. Or yours,” James offered. 

“No. Here.”

James laid his hand on the security pad and breathed a sigh of relief when the door unlocked. Good. He hadn’t thought Stark was stupid enough to lock them out. The apartment was a bit dusty after them being gone so long, but that wasn’t what mattered and was easily remedied. Clint set down the bags of gear he’d been carrying and wandered into Natalia’s bedroom. James watched him worriedly, but let him have the time.

“She knew.”

“Knew what?”

Clint sighed. “All the things.”

James nearly laughed. “Well yes.”

“I don’t have people, not like everyone else does.”

James leant on the door frame. “I don’t either. Not after what they did to me for so long.”

They’d talked, those long months searching for Natalia. Shared so many things. There wasn’t much they’d not either screamed out during nightmares or admitted in the quiet of the night when both of them couldn’t quite sleep. Sometimes the nightmare screaming led to the conversations. The result was that neither of them really had secrets from one another. Clint knew that James’ aversion to more than innocent touching and cuddling was a result of all the years of non-consensual acts he’d endured. Clint was not much different, only his had less (okay a lotta bit, thanks so fucking much, Loki) to do with sociopathic fuckwits with access to mind control and more to do with a drunken, abusive fucker of a father and the horrors Clint had somehow managed to survive as a child. James totally understood that underneath all of that trauma, Clint had an aversion to sex. He called it being broken. James was working on that term. Clint wasn’t broken; he was just not interested. James got it. He really, really did. He was fine with it. Felt the same, for different reasons but the same. 

“We’re okay being broken together, right?”

“Not broken, baby, just different,” he reminded Clint gently. 

“No one else will understand.”

James moved into the room, both of them more than okay these days with touching each other. Anyone else was still likely to get shot, but the two of them were good. More than good actually. He snuggled up against Clint’s chest, happy when Clint’s arms wrapped around him. “Don’t care. They can fuck off.”

  
Clint managed a snicker. “You and Steve are still friends.”

“Hmf. The rest can.”

Clint snickered again. “Sleep?”

“In here?”

“Maybe someday. For now, pick where.”

James thought about it and murmured, “Your room. It can be ours now, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

\--**--

(One year later) 

Clint didn’t bother cussing, just slapped a hand over his arm and sighed. “I know, I know. I can’t keep killing everything and not letting you have any fun.”

James laughed, already pulling out the packet with nanobot powder, tapping his comms. “East building is clear. Heading back to the rendezvous point.”

“All okay?” Steve asked.

Clint sighed. “Cho probably has my room all ready, yeah?”

“Clint!” chorused through the comms. He just sighed again. 

“He’s fine.” James huffed, muttering in Russian, “Like I’d tell them any different.”

Clint grinned, clicking off his comms. They were able to joke about things now, things that even three months ago would have still been too painful. But, Nat would have hated that. Hated him remembering the bad instead of the good. “You’d think they would have learned that  _ you _ actually will shoot them when Nat just threatened. Sam was pissed off for months!”

James winked. “Natalia liked them more than I do.”

“She did.” He didn’t complain when James picked him up. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. Even when you jump in front of bullets meant for me.”

“Pfft, you knew, James, you _ so _ knew what you were getting into.”

James’ laugh made Clint happy in ways he’d once thought he was too broken to feel. Thankfully, James was patient and loved him just how he was. 

He hoped that if there was some sort of afterlife, that Nat was watching and laughing and muttering about how she was always right about everything and pissy because she’d not got to tease them about it. 

“She knows,” James murmured, settling him on the bench of the quinjet and already checking his arm. “I know she does.”

Clint smiled, happy and content all thanks to a stubborn Russian assassin who’d never given up on him. Okay, two of them in different ways. His point stood, he thought stubbornly as he drifted off to sleep. 


End file.
